Ehomba shrugged. “I suppose you will know as well as I, my friend. We do not know what it is, but I suspect it will not be wearing clothes or crown. No creature of the sea that I have ever seen or heard tell of does so.”
“Nor any that are known to me,” the first mate replied as he strained at the oars.
They were right about the clothing, but wrong about the crown.
The sun slipped below the western rim of the valley, its shafting light turning the upper reaches of the slope into a sheet of emerald. Darkness descended on the valley in the sea, on the noble ship bobbing gently in the ripples that were not strong enough to qualify as swells, and on her apprehensive yet expectant crew.
Etjole Ehomba was no less anxious than any of them. With the ship’s lamps alight and several secured high up in the rigging to mark the vessel’s location to any passing craft—or king—he stood on the main deck and stared out to sea, wondering at the sargassum man’s parting words. What dwelled out there that was not porpoise or whale yet was potentially strong enough to free the Grömsketter from her obstinate sanctuary? What mysterious acquaintances did the green humanoid intend to converse with on their behalf?
A familiar voice nudged up alongside him. “Hoy, long bruther: We’re pondering the same thing, I think.” The swordsman’s gaze was similarly drawn to the black waters on which the ship rode, and to the unknown depths beneath her keel. What monstrous life-forms swam and fought and died there, down in the unfathomable abyss? Which of them could free the ship and her crew and send both on their way? Sea serpents? Simna had heard many tales of such. The horrid great Kraken, with its clacking beak and tentacles like a pack of pythons? A king, Ehomba said the weed man had told him. But king of what?